CHAPTER1
LINDSEY
Two weeks ago
MY STOMACH DROPPED to the floor as my eyes took in the image on my phone screen. My mouth went dry and my palms began to sweat as the blurry words came into focus. Mom and Dad noticed the shift in me right away.
“What is it? You look like you’re going to be sick,” Dad asked, glancing up distractedly, his attention mostly on the latest edition of Car and Driver magazine he’d been reading.
“Lindsey-Bug, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me. Are you coming down with something? I can make you a doctor’s appointment.” Mom put the back of her hand against my forehead to check for a temperature.
She peered over my shoulder at my phone, seeing what had caused my reaction. The picture was of woods being cordoned off, the glistening water of a large lake in the background. People in white coveralls all the way up over their heads lugging bags from vans, masks obscuring their faces.
“Is that where I think it is?” she whispered, bracing herself on the back of my chair.
I glanced back at her and nodded.
“What is it, Cara?” my father asked, finally closing his magazine and giving us his full attention for the first time. He took in our horrified faces before taking the phone from my shaking hands. “What is this? Is this right now?” he demanded, his expression morphing from polite disinterest to terrified.
I took a calming breath, feeling my stomach knot up. I gently took my phone back and scrolled down to the text. “It says they found human remains yesterday morning. They appear to have been there awhile, though they won’t know for sure until they’re tested.”
“At Doll’s Eye Lake?” Mom’s voice was tiny.
“At Doll’s Eye Lake,” I confirmed.
“Is it her?” Her words quavered and I knew she was holding in twenty-four years worth of tears.
“I don’t know, Mom.” I sounded hollow.
“What the goddamn hell?” my dad suddenly roared. “Why weren’t we told this was happening? Why didn’t they call us?” His anger was justified and completely understandable. Why hadn’t we been prepared for the news? Had no one thought that the family should have been notified before the press got ahold of it?
“They don’t know who it is.” I continued to read, my eyes skimming the article quickly. “But they do mention Jess. The police haven’t released a statement yet.”
Dad had his phone pressed to his ear and I heard him demanding to speak to someone.
“Put me through to whoever’s in charge of the shit show happening at Doll’s Eye Lake!” My father yelled into the phone.
Mom gripped my shoulder so tightly I winced. “Is it her?” she repeated, sounding like a little girl, lost and terrified. “Is it my baby?” Her eyes brimmed with tears as she stared down at the image on my phone.
I put my hand over hers. “I don’t know, Mom,” I repeated.
I tried to swallow around the lump in my throat.
“I don’t know.”
Present Day
The Bronze Monarch Hotel
lobby was busy. It usually was on Monday mornings with guests checking in and out after the weekend, with the constant turnstile of visitors revolving endlessly.
I left Pete and Marnie, my two front desk clerks, to it. They were more than capable of handling the rush. I headed to my office, closing the door behind me.
I felt muted today. Like my head was underwater and the world was muffled. Just the soft echo of voices and my steady heartbeat to fill my head. But I preferred the absence of feeling to the barrage of emotion I had been overwhelmed with since that moment two weeks ago. I knew I needed to pull myself together; Mom and Dad needed me. But some days were harder than others.
My parents and I had been waiting for twenty-four long years to find out what happened to my sister. After so much time, I was hoping my parents could finally come to terms with the loss. That we could close that ugly chapter instead of constantly waiting for her to walk back through the door as if nothing had happened.
Perhaps now, I would have a chance to relinquish some of the guilt I felt for being the last person to see her.
I leaned against my desk, gripping the edge, as I stared down at the floor. It was hard to concentrate on anything but Jess. Or Jessie, as I used to call her. My beautiful, smart, impossible-to-live-up-to sister. A stranger I loved and longed for more than I could sometimes bear.
We had been called down to the police station not long after my father laid into the new lead detective, Lieutenant Jane Higgins. But once Dad’s anger had run its course, he was back to being calm and charming, jovial even. Dad in control made me feel a lot better.
The lieutenant was full of apologies. She explained they normally wouldn’t speak to a victim’s family until they had confirmation of who the remains belonged to, but that the press had gotten a hold of the story and things had spiraled before she could put the brakes on. She sounded angry about it too, which went a long way toward settling both my parents down. There was nothing, at the moment, that indicated it was Jess and that the media were simply jumping to conclusions.
Mom had asked to see the body, but she’d been denied this request immediately. Dad had been up in arms, once more, about how badly the case had been originally handled and how, this time, we needed to be kept in the loop about what was happening. We’d been promised we’d be the first to know once they got the tests back, though it wouldn’t be for a few weeks. They were still searching the area and had called a dive team in from a nearby city to search Doll’s Eye Lake again.
Doll’s Eye Lake. Just hearing the name unsettled me.
Officially, it was called Baneberry Lake, but over the years, the kids began to call it Dolls’ Eye Lake for the nickname given to the pretty, yet creepy flowers that bloomed around the large body of water. They definitely looked like tiny eyes growing on bright green stalks. So, of course, generations of children used them as a way to scare each other.
It was a favorite spot for those that lived in Mt. Randall. During the summer, local kids flocked to its cold depths, even though their parents warned them not to swim there. Doll’s Eye Lake was a man-made reservoir and no one really knew how deep it was. It had been created over a hundred years ago as a secondary water supply for the county to use during a drought.
But, eventually, it simply became a place to hang out. A place to make out. A place you went to when you wanted to be alone. There were decades old rumors that an old town had been flooded when it was made. Families displaced,
memories forgotten. And townsfolk say that on a clear day, you can see the rooftops of houses far below the surface. Proof of that old, lost town lingering at the bottom.
Twenty-four years ago Mom had been convinced that’s where they would find Jess. My sister spent so much time there over the years, that Mom swore that’s where she was.
Dad tried to reason with her, arguing that it didn’t make any sense.
She claimed it was a mother’s intuition and against his wishes, she had demanded police search the area. Clearly investigators had been appeasing a hysterical mother when they gave the lake a barely cursory look. Because now, decades later, a body had been found and police were searching for more. If they had done their job properly in the first place, perhaps we would have had answers years ago.
We were told that attempts to identify the body through dental records were inconclusive, so they would have to submit DNA to compare to the remains and it was agreed I’d provide the sample, which I was more than happy to give.
It was a nightmare, but one that I desperately hoped would have an ending soon.
My office door creaked open, the noise viciously loud in the enveloping quiet.
“Sorry to bother you, but we have an issue with a booking.” Marnie winced apologetically. She, like everyone else, knew why I wasn’t in the best mood. How could I be when it was possible my sister’s bones were lying on a cold table in a forensic lab waiting to be tested? I had caught a couple of my employees talking about it last week. I recognized the quick hush that descended when I walked into the break room. I had been the focus of enough gossip over the years to know the signs.
I wasn’t mad though. The story had been dominating the news for weeks. Everyone was talking about it. I barely remembered what it had been like before, in 1999. Back then, I had been too young to grasp the severity of the situation. Even being the last person to technically see my sister, it didn’t register that she was gone. Not until months went by and I started asking when Jess was coming back and my mom, overwrought, screamed ‘never.’
Childhood trauma, table for one, please.
But the news was different today. With social media, fact and fiction became tangled up and the stories being floated around were somewhere between sort of accurate and absolutely ridiculous. Pair that with the new podcast—a podcast using my own words from a police interview as its title—and people were going nuts dissecting a case that had grown cold a long time ago.
I listened to the first episode. I couldn’t help myself. When it came to Jess, and what happened to her, I became as obsessed as any amateur internet sleuth lurking in the dark corners of the internet.
I hated it. It was exploitative and downright disrespectful. It was two women, with no connection to my sister, glugging wine and giggling over hottie boyfriends and nineties fashion. It made me sick to my stomach. Yet, I had listened to it three more times, digesting the details.
Some of it was new, even to me. I had no idea that my sister had been a pledge at a
sorority. It was something my parents never mentioned. I knew Jess was close to her roommate, but I didn’t know the girl’s name was Daisy Molina. It was strange, learning facts about my sister from people who never actually knew her.
My parents rarely spoke about Jess and if they did, it was by accident. I knew they grieved for her, that they missed her, and I also knew talking about her was off limits. So as a result, I had grown up never really knowing anything about Jess except for my own hazy childish memories and whatever I happened to discover along the way.
The hosts of the podcast talked a little about the remains and whether they were Jess’s. They couldn’t be sure, as the authorities hadn’t yet made an official statement, but they believed that it was most likely my sister. They had done their research and dug up old newspaper articles about the original investigation at the lake. And like me, they expressed disgusted disbelief at how shoddy it had been. But now, according to the podcast, this was much bigger than Jessica Fadley. And it wasn’t only one missing girl’s story anymore.
I had always wondered about the other missing women, but had been too consumed with my sister’s case to pay them much attention. But these two random podcasters, with their laughter and off color comments, were connecting dots I—and apparently the police—had never thought of.
“Sorry,” Marnie apologized again as I walked with her out of my office.
“It’s fine,” I assured her, my voice calmer than I actually felt. I smiled to put her at ease.
Marnie was a worrier. She was younger than me by a handful of years, and was sensible, considerate and a great employee. Plus, being annoyed with her felt a lot like kicking a puppy.
At the front desk, the line was now snaked around to the bar. Never a good sign, but easily managed once I knew what was going on. Bellhops pulled luggage carts through the lobby towards the bank of elevators, dodging a pair of kids running around unchecked by their exasperated parents.
Yet it wasn’t chaotic. The Bronze Monarch Hotel didn’t do chaos. It was luxury and refined taste. It catered to the rich and those looking to impress. I loved every overpriced inch of the place and, despite it not having been a part of my life plan, I was glad I was there. As the newly promoted front desk manager, I knew that the inner workings of a hotel, especially a hotel of the Bronze Monarch’s size and reputation, were like cogs in a clock. Every part had to work perfectly to ensure it chimed on the hour.
The Bronze Monarch was comprised of tall windows with a dramatic arched entrance. It had marbled floors and a lobby filled with red leather furniture. The front desk was made of ornate, hand carved wood imported all the way from somewhere in Europe. We had been renovating for the past year and a half and the front desk had been the most recent, and most
ostentatious, addition.
“Hello, I’m the front desk manager. How can I help you?” I greeted the man waiting by the computer. He was good looking in an easy going way and was clearly quite a bit older than me, probably in his late thirties or early forties. He had dark hair swept across his forehead, but he had a baby-faced appeal about him. I didn’t typically notice attractive men, I saw enough of them at the hotel, but there was something about this guy that drew my attention.
He wore a generic, impersonal smile meant to charm. That was, until he looked at me. Then it faltered before failing entirely. He blinked; his frown deepening. When he hadn’t said anything after several long moments, I became irritated, good looks be damned.
“Sir, can I help you?” I repeated with a hint of impatience.
The man seemed to force a neutral expression. He met my eyes and the earlier awkwardness vanished. “Yes. I have a reservation, it was booked on the company credit card, but this young lady,” he paused to smile politely at Marnie, “says I need the actual card to check in. The problem being, I don’t have it with me. In my rush to get into town, I left it back home in Chicago.”
I turned my attention to the computer. “Let me have a look at your reservation. What name is it booked under?”
“Ryan McKay.”
I pulled up the reservation. “Ah, all right. It actually looks like you’ve already paid for the room, so it’s not a problem that you don’t have the card. It’s normally our policy that the card used to book the reservation be shown at check in, but as long as you have another form of payment for incidentals, we’ll make a note in the system.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Perfect, thank you.” He retrieved his wallet and handed me his personal card.
Marnie was now checking in the family with the two out of control kids running around the lobby. They were getting dirty looks from the other guests. I pulled a couple packs of crayons and a coloring book from beneath the counter and handed them to the flustered parents. “Here, these are for the kids. They can sit over by the fireplace and I’ll have someone bring them some cookies and lemonade.”
The parents took them with visible relief. “Thank you,” the mom said, waving the kids over who took the crayons and coloring book excitedly. They hurried off to have a seat, out of the way.
I turned back to Ryan McKay who grinned at me. “Nicely handled.”
For some reason I felt myself blushing at the compliment. I smiled dismissively. “Um, Okay, um,” I stumbled. What was wrong with me? I coughed to cover my awkwardness. “You’re all checked in Mr. McKay.”
“It’s Ryan. Mr. McKay is my father,” he laughed.
“Here’s your keycard, Mr. McKay. You’re on the fifth floor. The elevator is across the lobby,” I said pointedly.
“Ouch, okay, I can take a hint.” He winced with a chuckle while taking the keycard from me. He picked up his satchel and slung it over his shoulder. Before leaving he looked at me again, narrowing his eyes slightly. “This is going to sound strange, but do I know you?” He peered at the name tag on my shirt. “Lindsey … Lindsey what?”
I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. Realizing how his question sounded, Ryan held up a hand. “No really. I know that sounds like a line, but you look so familiar.”
My smile was now decidedly frostier than it had been before. It wasn’t the first pickup
line I’d heard and unfortunately it wouldn’t be the last. You couldn’t be a female in the service industry and not be inundated with unwanted advances. I had learned the best way to handle it was to shoot it down … hard and fast. The worst thing was giving them any sort of opening.
“Unless you’ve stayed with us before, I doubt our paths would have crossed.” I handed him his printed receipt, never giving him my last name. “We hope you have a nice stay at the Bronze Monarch.” I turned away from him and let Marnie know I was heading back to my office.
As I walked across the lobby, I couldn’t help but feel eyes on me, watching me leave, and I knew that if I turned to look, it would be Ryan McKay.
CHAPTER2
LINDSEY
Present day
“LINDS, YOUR MOM and I are going out for dinner. You’re on your own to get yourself something to eat” My dad said, poking his head around my bedroom door.
I pulled my Airpod out of my ear and gave him a nervous smile. He had no idea he had caught me listening to the first episode of the Ten Seconds to Vanish podcast for the fifth time since its release. The new episode was due to drop over the weekend and I could barely contain my impatience.
“I’ll be fine, Dad. I’ll have some of Mom’s leftover lasagna.”
“Your mom told me to tell you that she made a casserole if you wanted it.” He peered hesitantly into my room. “And you know what she’d say about excessive screen time. Do us both a favor and read a book or something, otherwise I have to hear about it,” he laughed absently, indicating my phone with its lit up screen and the podcast graphic in plain view. Dad wasn’t one to lecture, or be too involved with my life in any way, which was in stark contrast to my mother’s hovering. Ultimately, they seemed to balance each other out.
I quickly flipped it over before he could see it. “I’m listening to a podcast, no eyes necessary.” I wanted to smack myself as soon as the truth left my mouth.
Dad raised his eyebrows. “A podcast? Which one? Maybe I’ve heard of it. I’m down, I hear stuff,” he joked.
“Oh it’s nothing exciting. Just a podcast on fancy hotels,” I lied, feeling awful at how effortless it was for me to do so. Lying to my parents wasn’t natural for me. We had an open and honest relationship, which made me feel ten times worse.
Dad made a face. “Sounds like a pass.” Dad and I didn’t share interests, so it wasn’t hard to put him off the scent.
“Not a sports car in sight, I’m afraid,” I teased. My dad loved muscle cars, particularly the bright yellow 1965 Mustang Boss 429 he kept parked in the garage and I had never seen him drive.
Mom and I didn’t understand why he kept it out there. The garage’s roof often leaked when it rained, and it was freezing in the winter and boiling hot in the summer. And for a brief time, when I was younger, it seemed to be where every animal in the neighborhood went to die.
I remembered as a kid, that to combat the stink of a raccoon that had crawled up into the eaves and began to rot, Dad had filled glass bowls with white vinegar and left them lined along the floor and on the shelves. He had also taken to dousing everything in peppermint oil. Apparently, it was a problem with the way the houses on the street were built. Our neighbor, Mrs. Lewis, complained of a similar issue.
Eventually the smell subsided after Dad told us he boarded up the hole on the side of the house. Regardless, Mom and I steered clear of the garage. It wasn’t exactly a place you wanted to spend much time in.
“Definitely not for me then.” His eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled.
My dad was incredibly handsome. He had aged well and it was impossible to go anywhere without women noticing him. He was the epitome of masculinity; tall, broad shouldered, dark haired, chiseled jaw line and an easy-going smile. He had charisma and was very likable. But he only had eyes for his car magazines and his phone that seemed permanently attached to his hand.
His job as a real estate agent demanded a lot of his time. He was a broker and had started his own agency when I was a little kid. He had worked hard to become one of the ‘best goddamn realtors in the county.’ As a result I rarely saw him growing up, though Mom always told me it was all in the name of keeping a roof over our heads.
“Okay then, we’ll be back in a while.” Dad paused, as if deciding whether to come into my room. I couldn’t remember the last time he had stepped inside. He didn’t make a habit of venturing to this part of the house. The proximity to the permanently closed door across the hall acted as a barrier, keeping
him out most of the time.
Eventually he took a step back, away from my room. Away from me. With a quick glance around and a slight wave, he headed downstairs.
My parents and I existed easily together for the most part. Dad gave me all the space I could have ever wanted, my mother all the nurturing I had ever needed. I loved them both. They had always been the most important people in my life, which is why, at thirty years old, I still lived at home. Some adults may find it suffocating, and if I was being honest with myself, some days I did as well, but mostly I appreciated that I could depend on them for anything.
Most people couldn’t understand how the thought of leaving my parents alone with their unending grief, left me with a sinking feeling of guilt that was much worse than letting my mom continue to do my laundry and my dad to dutifully pay my car insurance.
When I went away to college, Mom struggled. She would call constantly to check that I was okay and ask what I was up to. She wanted to know who my friends were and if I was dating. It had been unnecessarily hard on all of us, considering I could have lived at home and gone to the great school that was less than fifteen minutes away.
But going to Southern State University had never been an option. Even though my parents were both alumni and it was where they had met, it would always be Jessie’s college. That had been her life. And it would never be mine. Any other prior claim was forgotten once she had gone missing. The college would forever belong to a girl who would never be going back.
So, together, my mom and I decided I’d go to North Carolina East College, knowing it was only four years. And the moment I graduated, I came back home. We had never discussed it, but we came to a silent, mutual agreement.
I was a grown woman stuck in limbo between my old life and the prospect of a new one. But I wasn’t in a hurry to rectify the situation. Because moving on had proven incredibly hard for me, too.
I turned the podcast back on as soon as I heard the front door shut. The high-pitched voices of the two hosts, one clearly from the South, the other with an indescribable British accent, filled my ears as they laughed and joked about something that wasn’t remotely funny.
“What do we know about Jessica Fadley?” one of them asked, her question taking on the dramatic cadence of someone putting on a show.
“We know she was super smart.”
“I read she graduated top of her class in high school, which is pretty damn impressive,” Rachel, the first host, laughed.
“Yeah, not everyone is like you, Rach, drinking their way to a solid D average during their teenage years,” Stella teased.
“Well, it’s not like she was Miss Perfect. Sure, Jessica was smart, but once she was off to school, like most of us, she had a good time. People who knew her said she partied and stayed out late—she was getting the full college experience,” Rachel interjected.
“She sounds like my kinda gal,” Stella cooed.
Okay, I’d had enough. I turned it back off, shutting down the streaming app before I
was tempted to turn it back on. Listening to people making light of my sister’s life and disappearance was the worst kind of masochism.
This was their entertainment, but it was my life. Her life.
“Ugh,” I groaned, leaning back in my chair and pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. “What is wrong with me?”
I knew I was torturing myself, and I knew it wasn’t healthy.
A loud thump caught my attention and I froze. My ears strained in the throbbing silence.
Was that a rustling? A sign of movement?
It was coming from the direction of my open doorway. I dropped my hands and glanced toward the closed door across the hall. I stared, imagining it gradually creaking open.
There was a barely audible sigh. A release of pent-up air. And it came from her room.
There was an uncomfortable buzzing in my ears, and my palms started to sweat. This wasn’t the first time I had experienced unexplained noises, yet I never grew accustomed to them. Each and every time, I became paralyzed with an irrational fear that felt rooted in the grief that permeated the house.
I got to my feet and slowly, quietly, made my way to the door of the room that hadn’t been occupied in twenty-four years.
I put my hand on the knob, willing myself to turn it. It felt warm, as if it had been held only moments before.
There was an echo of a presence. As if I had only missed her by a few seconds. I could almost feel her on the other side. Waiting for me.
I hurriedly backed away.
After that, I decided that staying home was a bad idea. I needed to get out of that house and the remnants of ghosts that sometimes, on days like today, made the themselves known. ...
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